


I prefer the worst of you

by mywholecry



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Dubcon due to drug use, M/M, Marijuana Use, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possibly canon compliant at some point, References to self-harm, Step Brothers, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywholecry/pseuds/mywholecry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You turned momentarily evil,” Chuck says, and Eric ducks his head, smiles at his hands. “I would say I was proud, but I must admit, I was fond of the innocent lamb thing you had going on.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I prefer the worst of you

**note** : I wrote this in 2009, and I have no idea where GG canon or fandom is at this point, so take everything with a grain of salt. Chuck's sort of romanticized in this, even though I hate him. Also, note the tags - potentially trigger-inducing, especially for self-harm and suicidal ideation.

 

there is a charge

for the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge  
for the hearing of my heart--  
it really goes. 

and there is a charge, a very large charge  
for a word or a touch  
or a bit of blood

or a piece of my hair or my clothes. [1]

“I’m worried about you,” his mother says, and Eric looks up and doesn’t know what to say. They’ve been through this stage before, when he gave in easily and let her let other people try to help him. He still goes to therapy, sometimes, but it's not a thing anymore. He still thinks about doing things, sometimes, but he never _does_ them. His therapist tells him that's a good sign, that he's progressing. She smiles at him and means it, and she writes down titles of books for him to read, to help him keep things clear. 

"You're fighting with Jenny," his mother says, and: "I think you should make more friends." 

And he's not fighting with Jenny, at least not actively, anymore. They still have long periods where they avoid having to see each other, but that's not so bad. It was better when he was with Jonathon, because he had somebody to avoid her with, but he's getting used to spending time alone again. He has a lot of time to think.

"I'll work on it," he says, quietly, goes for the wide-eyed innocent look that normally works, but she looks doubtful.

"This is your last year of high school," she continues, plaintively, like he's Serena and she has to actually make him listen to reason. "Don't you want to make the most of it?" 

He's seen the pictures of his mother in high school, surrounded by pretty people, never alone. He has way better hair than she did, but she's still beating him on that ideal teenage experience thing he's supposed to be aiming for. 

"Of course." 

Jenny's been talking, on their good days, about setting him up with someone. She'll crawl into his bed and point out boys from last year's yearbook, the ones with nice eyes and white, white smiles, and he knows that some of them have boyfriends, and some of them are straight, and others are confused in a different way than he was. Eric's always been stupidly sure about himself like that. Jenny tells him about the sports they play, about their drama club productions, and Eric just thinks about how he doesn't do any of that, and how quickly could he fuck things up this time? 

His mom doesn't try to talk to him about the fact that Jonathon doesn't come around anymore. She's not really ready for that yet.

*

He sees Chuck for the first time in awhile over winter break, when he comes back from a trip to Paris without a Blair on his arm. Gossip Girl is on it the moment he gets back in the city, and, by the end of the day, the word is that they're on one of their many breaks, and that Blair has taken up with a street artist who complimented her color palette. Chuck is nursing a cup of coffee in the kitchen when Eric comes down after sleeping until ten, and he looks up lazily, eyes a little vague. 

"Where's your trophy wife?" Eric asks, and he means it to be gentle, questioning.

"I think you'll find," Chuck says, "that I was the trophy husband."

Eric's happy to see that he's smiling when he looks up from the brim of his mug, this little upturn of his lips at the corners, barely anything but enough. Eric moves to lean into the counter next to him and wait for him to tell him what happened, but they both stay quiet. Maybe it's too soon. There's still hurt lingering on Chuck's face, and his fingers inch to smooth out the lines in his forehead, at the very corners of his eyes.

*

Eric remembers Jenny asking him about Chuck, when she was still starstruck and everyone with a trust fund was a giant fucking enigma. He'd made a face at her and said, "Don't tell me you have a crush on him," and she had laughed, horrified. She didn't even like Chuck, but she didn't know him. 

"He's not evil," Eric had said, eventually, "just. . .misguided. This is a weird way to grow up." Jenny probably thought he was being dramatic, the tortured rich kid, but she had nodded along at the time, even when Eric had added: "He can be nice," softly. He's known Chuck since he was a kid, and there's something different about him when he's separated from the rest of the world. Even before they were stepbrothers, they would talk, sometimes, escaping from dinner parties to hide in libraries and bedrooms. After he recovered enough to come home, Chuck would call him and not say that he was checking up on him, and they would talk about nothing important. He helped more than Eric likes to think about.

He might have had a crush, when he was younger, but he's grown up.

*

They're on the roof of the building, sharing a joint that he stole from Jenny's room, when Chuck tangles their fingers together loosely. They're sitting with their backs to the wall, legs sprawled out in front of them, and Eric makes a small noise. Chuck isn't looking at him, not even when he passes the joint back to him, or when Eric coughs on an inhale. It's cheaper than what Jenny usually has, the smoke a little too hot in his throat, but it leaves him feeling peaceful and light. Chuck's hand in his is warm and just barely rough, little callouses on the curves of fingertips when Eric moves his fingers. This is so distinctly strange that he keeps getting questions caught somewhere in his mouth, a large _what?_ trapped between his teeth. 

He watches from the corner of his eye as Chuck finishes it off, blowing little clouds of pale smoke and condensation from his lips, and he leans closer without turning his head. Their shoulders rest heavily together, and Chuck tightens his grip so Eric's hands start to sweat a little, go damp against his skin. It's starting to snow.

Chuck's humming a little, barely audible, and Eric counts every breath that he takes until he can even them out again.

*

good is positive. evil is merely privative, not absolute: it is like cold, which is the privation of heat. all evil is so much like death or nonentity. benevolence is absolute and real. so much benevolence as a man hath, so much life hath he. for all things proceed out of this same spirit, which is differently named love, justice, temperance, in its different applications, just as the ocean receives different names on the several shores which it washes. [2]

*

 

Eric kisses Chuck the fourth morning he ends up at the apartment, because he's still half-asleep, and Chuck has coffee and this smile. He has better things he could be doing, a business to run, but he should still be on vacation, and he's spending it with _Eric_. So, Chuck passes him a mug of coffee a few inches across the counter, and his face is close, and Eric pushes forward on his toes to slant their mouths together. Neither of them do anything at first, but after a few long moments Chuck's hands run down Eric's back to rest at his waist. He kisses him back.

About five minutes into it, Chuck pulls away and says, "boyfriend, you had a boyfriend."

"Not anymore," Eric says, "but what about Blair?"

"Fucking a Parisian," Chuck replies, and wow, Gossip Girl is seriously good, "and this is nice. Isn't it."

Nice doesn't really begin to describe this, and he likes the way Chuck says it, like it's just fun. It's another part of whatever they are now, friends or ex-stepbrothers or whatever. Eric's never kissed anyone he didn't think he wanted to have a relationship with, something monogamous and strong (even Asher, in the beginning), but this could be what he needs right now. 

*

Eric asks his therapist about confidentiality, and then he tells her about Chuck, almost takes up their entire session. She listens patiently, and, when he's done, she asks very slowly, "Eric, when's the last time you thought about hurting yourself?" 

He has to think about it, the last time it was more than a passing feeling (stepping into oncoming traffic, off of the balcony, little urges that don't mean much), and it was a few days before Chuck came back from Paris. He's been measuring his days by that, apparently. One morning, a glass slipped from his hands and broke on the floor, and he cut his hands when he went to pick the pieces up. The pain was sharp, almost clean, and his head went back to that night for a moment before it struck out like a match and he came to again, palms covered in blood.

But he remembered what he felt like perfectly, why he did it, how he was bored and lonely and suffocating. 

He tells her about it, haltingly, and she says, "and have you thought about it since you started spending time with Chuck?"

Eric thinks about it.

"No," he murmurs. 

"I can't say I approve of what you're doing, because I'm afraid that you're already attached to this boy. Platonic relationships with sex involved rarely end up platonic, and from what you've told me about Chuck's relationship with his girlfriend, he's unlikely to be giving her up." Eric nods, mouth twisting uncomfortably, but she continues: "Distractions are good, though. If you honestly feel like this is what you want to be doing, and that you can do it without getting hurt, then it could be better than you being alone."

"I think it would be better if you just told me what to do," he says, weakly.

"That's not my job, I'm afraid," she says, smiling. "I'm thinking I should pencil you in for the next few weeks?"

*

Eric tells Chuck about conspiring with Blair to take Jenny's date away, knock her down a few notches, and about how Jonathon broke up with him because of it. He's not really over it yet, but it helps that Chuck seems kind of delighted by the story, even though he'd already heard it from Blair, second hand from Gossip Girl.

“You turned momentarily evil,” Chuck says, and Eric ducks his head, smiles at his hands. “I would say I was proud, but I must admit, I was fond of the innocent lamb thing you used to have going on.” 

Eric wants to say something profound, _sacrificial lamb, lamb to the slaughter_ , but he’s tired now, and Chuck is running warm fingers over the length of his forearm. He turns his head and arches enough to press a kiss to the corner of Chuck's mouth, linger there until Chuck bites back, gently. They share space for a few minutes before Chuck's hand, the one that didn't find its way to thread into the hair curling at the nape of Eric's neck, skims under his shirt. Eric stills, just for a moment, and Chuck pulls back enough to meet his eyes.

"Okay?" he asks, voice rough, like Eric doesn't know what he's doing. He does, he knows _exactly_ what he's doing. 

"I'm not that young," he says, and Chuck says, "Believe me, I know," but the next kiss is softer.

*

"Serena told me to make sure that Chuck isn't leading you to the dark side," Jenny says. 

". . .what did you tell her?" he asks, staring over the top of his book at her. 

"Nothing yet," she says. "I'm not exactly sure what you two are doing with each other."

Eric wrinkles his nose.

"Things?" he offers.

"Dirty things?" she asks, crawling onto the bed next to them. 

"Things that I really don't want to discuss with you," he says, voice tight but without any malice, "since I'm not actually a girl."

"I guess I won't tell Serena that," Jenny says. She moves closer so she's sitting next to him, back against the headboard, insinuating an arm around his waist. They've not been very close lately, but sometimes they both pretend like neither of them did anything wrong. He tilts his head onto her shoulder and sighs. 

"Good idea," he murmurs.

"You do know," she says, "that Blair will kill you if she finds out about this."

"Yeah," he laughs, a little hysterically, "yeah, I know."  
*

They're high again, more so this time, and the apartment is stunningly empty. Eric has his lips stretched around Chuck's cock, on his knees in his bedroom. He feels like he's trying to prove something until he sees that Chuck is watching him the whole time, pupils blown, mouth open a little. He has a hand resting in Eric's hair, and he starts to run fingers through it, tug gently, and Eric tries unsuccessfully to push back the whine that's building in his throat. Normally, this isn't so good, but Chuck is making these little noises every time Eric runs his tongue around him, and Eric's going to die if he doesn't get touched soon. He pulls off slowly, digging fingers into Chuck's knee.

"I want," he says, voice scratchy, starting to blush, "I want. . .oh, god, fuck me?"

Chuck pulls him up to kiss him, messy, and Eric's somewhat annoyed by the fact that they're both still wearing most of their clothes. He climbs off of him to start undressing, struggling with the buttons on his shirt. Chuck gets up to help him, which actually makes it worse, and they start laughing around the time that Eric's shirt is hanging off of his shoulders, Chuck's pants around his ankles.

"Maybe we should not be under the influence when we do this again," Eric says, and that seems kind of daring, saying _again_ , but Chuck keeps laughing, this deep full thing that makes Eric's eyes focus fully on his mouth. He has to pull Chuck down to kiss him, just once, before he goes to the bedside table to search out condoms.

*

It's two in the morning when he gets the alert from Gossip Girl: _B is homebound, on a red eye from gay Paris. Bets on when she'll reconcile with C? I give them until sunrise._

It's eight in the morning when Chuck comes into his room and sits on the bed next to him, runs a hand over his shoulder even though he's awake, has been awake since two waiting for him to do this. Eric sits up to look at him, and he knows what this is about already.

"Have you even talked to each other yet?" he asks, and, _fuck_ , he sounds bitter. He's not supposed to care.

"On the phone," Chuck says. "We can't do this anymore."

Eric stares at him just to see if he'll meet his eyes, and he does, straight on. He smiles tightly.

"You guys are so predictable," he says, and Chuck laughs, leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

"You're a doll," Chuck says, softly, "and I mean that with the utmost respect."

"Yeah, yeah," Eric says. "Go get your girl."

He's maybe a little too attached to Chuck, which is probably why he can feel his heart sinking when Chuck leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

 

*

 

"Was it worth it?" his therapist asks, after winter break is over, and Eric smiles at the ceiling.

"He's Chuck Bass," he says. 

He still maybe feels bad that he was technically Chuck's French street artist fling, but it's really all right. He's supposed to be having scandalous affairs. Add in this and his nice rehab stint, and he's actually starting to make sense in the little plastic world he inherited. It's probably a sign that he's able to take this in stride, that he's adjusting without many complications. 

Jenny's been talking about going on a double date with her current gentleman caller and his brother. She introduced them after school one day, and he has pretty eyes, a white smile, and he looks so well-adjusted.

(He's considering saying yes.)

needy, lonely,  
stitched by pain,  
left with only  
the drip of the rain

out of all i had;  
the books of the wise,  
badly read  
by other eyes,

lewdly bawled at my closing ear;  
hated, called  
a lingerer here;--

withstanding death  
till life be gone,  
i shall treasure my breath,  
i shall linger on. [3]

[1] "lady lazarus" by sylvia plath, from _ariel: the restored edition._  
[2] "the divinity school address" by ralph waldo emerson, from _ralph waldo emerson: selected prose and poetry._  
[3]"moriturus" by edna st. vincent millay, from _the collected lyrics._


End file.
